by Ben Hale
Ten minutes later he felt even more gratitude as he walked through a pair of double doors to find Deiran, the general of the elven armies, reclining behind his desk.
The weathered elf rose to his feet and sauntered towards the young man. “Thank you for coming, Braon. I was hoping we could settle a few . . . misunderstandings.” The general glanced at Braon with false concern. “I know this job the Oracle said you had to do sounds great and all but—.”
“No,” Braon said, and Deiran looked at him in surprise. “General, I appreciate your concern, but not your attempt to coerce me into withdrawing my command.”
Deiran’s jaw dropped, but Braon wasn’t finished.
“I will not have you question my leadership, or I will be forced to find a suitable replacement to command the elven armies.” He said the statement with no trace of animosity, so as to not provoke the elf’s pride, but Deiran’s mouth snapped shut with a click and his eyes turned hard.
“If you think for one moment I will allow some human boy to command me—”
“No.” Braon exclaimed and Deiran once again stopped speaking, his expression now of astonishment.
“This is not a power struggle, general. You will command the elven army—if you choose. I command the defenses for this single battle. I have my calling, and you have yours.” He spoke in a controlled tone to not reveal weakness, but at the same time not show overconfidence. For the first time Deiran lost his condescending expression, so Braon spoke again to maintain his advantage. “We must work quickly and efficiently. There is a great deal I must learn—and plan—if we are to be prepared.”
Deiran pursed his lips and he raised an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”
Understanding his question to be test of his leadership, or a trap if he lacked said skills, Braon answered honestly. “Our first step is to show me the defenses in complete detail. Then we find each weakness and make plans to turn them into strengths. Last we lay out a system for how to combine the races as they arrive, including company arrangements, training, outfitting, and particularly how to avoid conflicts between blood enemies.” He finished and watched a flicker of respect light the general's eyes.
“Would you like to begin in the First Hall?” It houses the first Legion and—.”
Braon shook his head. “I have already seen the defenses of the First and Second Halls, and their defensive layout is, to put it lightly, beyond admirable.” He inclined his head towards the general in a mark of respect, to which Deiran smiled modestly. “I would prefer to begin outside the city. If we can ride west to the end of the Giant’s Shelf and then to the east until the lake, I will be able to get a look at what else we are dealing with besides the city. If we are to defend the cliff, then we must see every section of it to be ready.”
Deiran’s smile widened and he finally conceded—but Braon had no doubt that the judgment was temporary. If he failed in anything, he would lose the general's respect.
“We ride together then, commander. Let’s see what we are dealing with.”
Within an hour they were riding west along the Giant’s Shelf with a score of armed elves in tow. On occasion Braon would halt to examine the cliff. With the horses that Deiran had chosen, they covered the ten miles to the high western mountains before noon. Only once did the shelf drop below a thousand feet. The dip occurred six miles west of Azertorn. At that point the edge sloped down a shallow decline and lowered the cliff height to eight hundred feet. Deiran informed him as they rode into the depression that it had once been a waterfall, and the river had worn it down before something diverted the waterway.
Turning back where the plateau turned into a mountain, they picked up the pace on the return journey. Pausing for a short repast in Azertorn, they continued east until they came to the Lake Road. Throughout the day Braon spoke little, observing the terrain but asking questions when necessary. Sparse vegetation dotted the plateau's smooth rock, and spread from the cliff to the tree line several miles back. Remarkably smooth, the stone of the Giant's Shelf rose and fell in gentle waves of reddish rock.
As they rode, Braon laid out some preliminary ideas in his mind, but chose not to share them with Deiran until they were finished with the exploration. As dusk began to fall, they reached the Lake Road. Stopping at a rocky knoll rising out of the ground, they dismounted for a meal. The simple food of nuts and fruit tasted delicious after the long day, but Braon did his best not to overeat. When Deiran asked if he wanted to return to Azertorn for the night, he shook his head and asked for a bedroll.
“I want to see the Lake Road before we return,” he said, and eased his sore body onto his blanket. As tired as he was, he took a moment to imagine the ground they had covered, organizing it into an image in his mind.
The Giant's Shelf was a thousand-foot cliff that ran over twenty-five miles from east to west, with Azertorn in the center. Near the western end, the dip would be the only weakness on that side. East of the city the vulnerability would be the road, which he would see tomorrow.
The city presented its own problems. Majestic and grand, the tiered city was shaped for defense, with the smallest level two hundred feet off the valley floor. Each subsequent tier meant the defenders would always have the high ground. The top tier spanned the entire distance between the two waterfalls, and boasted additional battlements that abutted the rivers above the cliff.
Braon didn't expect the lush gardens and waterways to be a problem—except at the base of the great tree. Covering the entire first level, the Gardens of Light and Enlightenment would be the first place their attackers would climb to. In addition, a pond called the Mirror’s Edge abutted the cliff, meaning there were no fortifications there. Although two hundred feet above the valley floor, Braon had no doubt the fiends would reach it. As much as he knew the elves would fight the issue, the gardens would have to be removed, and the pond drained.
Underneath the city, caverns and passages formed the main barracks for the army. Built with extreme defenses, the corridors formed a path of retreat for the elves in case the city's main gates were ever breached. He felt a rush of gratitude at whatever ancient dwarf had designed the entrance. The false portal, backed by a fifty foot column of stone, strengthened one of the weakest points of any city. But if the real doors were discovered . . . they would be finished.
Braon paused in his considerations and stifled a yawn. He felt lucky that he had so much to work with, and grateful that the board game of Stratos had taught him so much about strategic planning. Now he just had to figure out how to get the races to unite—and listen to him.
He blinked at his tiredness, wishing he could remain awake so he could plan some more. There was so much to consider, but his endurance was not extensive, a fact he was careful not to reveal to his companions. He felt a flash of irritation that he didn't have more stamina, but recognized it as a weakness he would have to work around. Shifting his bulk on the hard ground, he succumbed to his weariness.
Rising early, they broke their fast with dried fruits and headed east for a few hundred yards. This eastern edge of the plateau dropped straight to the Blue Lake. Braon squinted at the water below and then turned to follow the road heading south. At fifty feet wide, the Lake Road felt narrow as it followed a rapidly descending path between the cliff and the lake. To the right, the sheer cliff stretched up to the plateau above. To the left, the road dropped to the rocky shore of the lake. Barren, the highway boasted a low wall along the lake side to prevent someone falling to their death. After five miles they reached the forest floor, and turned onto a trail that headed towards Azertorn. Picking up the pace, they arrived in the afternoon and entered the city.
As the general and the commander stepped back into Deiran’s office, the elf’s attitude had changed. It seemed that Braon’s few intuitive questions had shifted Deiran's perception of him.
Settling into his office chair he poured himself a bottle of light ale and offered some to Braon, who gladly accepted. After they both took a long pull to
quench their thirst, Deiran broke the silence. “So what’s your plan?”
Rubbing his forefinger against his thumb, Braon considered the best approach to tell the general. In many ways, this first hurtle would be his greatest to overcome. If he could not convince the general, his effort would be over before it began. Feeling the pressure, he asked, “Do you have a piece of parchment I can use?”
Deiran nodded and reached for a scrap of paper and a charcoal pencil. Once Braon had what he needed he began sketching the cliff while describing what he’d seen.
“The cliff, city, and road are too large to defend easily, so our first challenge is communication between the command and the soldiers. We also need to break the area into sections, each with its own general and command structure.” Finishing his rough drawing he spun it to show the general, who leaned in to examine it. “West of Azertorn we have three areas: The Gray is the furthest west and will run to the dry riverbed, its cliff is slightly gray instead of red so it will be easy to remember; the dip and the area to either side we will call The Deep, for obvious reasons; and the length of cliff between the low point and the city will be Western Falls battalion.
“The city of Azertorn is the fourth area. Just as the west, the eastern side will be divided into three areas. Eastern Falls is the five miles between the city and that large crack we passed. Between the crack and the Lake Road is The Ridge. On our far eastern flank is the Lake Road, which will have a command post at the knoll near where we camped.”
Deiran was bobbing his head and leaned back to ask, “So, what's next? You have the areas, now what do we do with them?”
“We fortify them. We need a wall built along the entire cliff, high enough so a man can lean over and shoot an arrow, but no more than his waist. We already have the high ground. We just keep our own forces from falling—or being pulled off.”
Deiran’s expression turned dubious and he asked, "You really believe they can climb the cliff?"
Braon blew out his breath and shook his head. "I don't know, but I would rather be prepared than not. Siarra numbered their army in the billions, so have no doubt they will try. If they did and we were unprepared . . ."
“We would be dead."
Braon nodded and continued, “We can use cavalry to sweep them off the cliff if they find a hole in the defenses. They will also provide the necessary reinforcements for the front lines, and give the mounted divisions of the various races a useful position.”
Deiran took another sip of his drink and asked, “What else?”
Braon noticed a spark of eagerness in the general’s eyes and smiled inwardly. He had him hooked, and doubted there would be any more struggle for authority as long as he continued to demonstrate strategic intelligence.
“There are still three places that require special attention. The Lake Road is my greatest concern. It is a highway to flank us and will be the easiest to attack. First we will knock down the wall next to the lake to make the road more dangerous. Then we need to build several walls along its length. Each needs to be thick, strong, and high. The construction needs to begin immediately.”
Deiran was nodding as he spoke and reached for another scrap of parchment to begin making notes. Braon paused and waited while he scribbled the orders. When the general finished and looked at him he added.
“The Lake Road, The Deep, and Azertorn, are most likely to be attacked, and therefore must be the most fortified. If possible, the Deep needs to have a wall built high enough to reach the rest of the cliff. When the wall falls, and it will, we will need to have pitch or tar prepared. I am hoping when the dwarves come they can use their fire magic to prepare fire traps that will ignite the tar as it drains down.”
Deiran was now grinning as Braon spoke but didn’t stop writing.
“Last we have Azertorn. We are truly lucky to have it constructed so well—but, if its gates are breached, it will only be a matter of time. For that reason, we must do everything possible to draw attention away from the gates. I believe they will use a battering ram almost immediately, and continuously. At some point they will damage the wood of the gates enough to see that stone is behind them and they will look for secondary gates. When they find them—.”
“Don’t you mean if they find them?” Deiran interrupted but Braon was already shaking his head.
“If they number so many—,” Braon couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of such an enemy, “—as the Oracle stated, they will find the secret entrance. Once they enter the city, the First Hall will be overrun in hours, likewise the Second Hall, and the rest of the city will be destroyed soon after. The Oracle told us the best we can hope to last is seven days, and if darkness falls on the seventh day, it will be permanent. Because of this I believe we must hold the gates at least until the end of the sixth day. If they breach the city before then . . .” He let the implication hang until Deiran nodded, his expression grim.
Deiran then sighed and looked away. “Do we have a chance?” For the first time since he’d called Braon commander, the general spoke with respect.
Relief washed over him as Braon realized he'd passed his first hurdle. “I believe we do, general, or at least I hope we do—and we will certainly do everything possible to succeed. I, for one, am not going to lie to down and be killed.”
Deiran snorted and stood. “And neither shall I! I will get these orders sent out immediately.”
“Excellent. As soon as you are done, I need to learn more about the city and make plans for the arrival of allies. I believe the refugees from the eastern kingdom will arrive first since we already know they are on the way. Send word to the elven settlements to direct them here so we can begin their integration into our defenses.”
Deiran nodded and escorted him out of the office. Leaving him speaking to one of his captains, Braon slipped out of the command center and headed back to the House of Runya.
They had a long road ahead but at least he’d seen what they had to defend, and more importantly, he had a plan. Then an idea popped into his head and he turned towards the palace. He was going to need the queen’s help for it to work, and it would be best to put that part into motion first.
Braon’s pace quickened as more and more thoughts came into mind of things that needed immediate attention. Sighing, he worked to list them in order of priority and forced himself to slow his gait. As he began fleshing out his strategies with the critical details, he checked for gaps or holes that would bring them down. With the magnitude of this battle, the slightest opening could make the difference, and it was up to him to ensure there were no holes.
A single oversight would kill them all.
Chapter 6: Battle Plans
Braon sighed. This was going to much harder than he’d imagined. Refugees from the eastern kingdom had begun to arrive and the few leaders he’d met were . . . resistant to follow his lead. The last group had thanked the elves for their hospitality but said they had no plans as of yet, and had pointedly ignored Braon.
Sighing again he watched them turn and leave, taking solace in the fact that some of his plans were moving forward. The most important recommendation he’d put forward had already begun, although the refugees from Griffin had no idea that he was behind it. He’d asked the queen of the elves and Liri’s mother, Lariel Tel’Runya, to supervise a critical portion of his battle plan, the women and children.
Initially, he needed the women and children settled into a secure location in the tunnels behind the city. As soon as they were placed in their temporary home they would begin their work. Fashioning leather armor, making arrows, and preparing food were going to be their primary objectives.
Watching the last of the refugees being led away by the queen’s men, he growled to himself. He’d been composed and collected, exactly the way he wanted to be, but it was proving . . . difficult to persuade stubborn men to follow a kid. What he needed was a second in command, someone strong and a natural leader. The second would need to be charismatic and possess the ability to draw
men of every race to him. If he had such a second, all the races of Lumineia would look to him, while he was guided by Braon.
He smiled at the wishful thought and pushed it aside. If Ero provided a second, then he would take it. Until then . . . he would have to deal with the problems on his own. Turning away, he threaded his way back through the city until he came to an ornate structure one level below the palace, the magic guild for the elves.
Stepping inside he politely asked to see Telerial Sur’Maegrian, archmage of the guild of magic. The elf guard left to summon the archmage, but Braon found a seat. During the war council where he’d been named commander, Telerial had demonstrated remarkable pride, and not the good kind. He would consider himself above Braon and would make him wait for an audience.
The young man took the time to consider his checklist. He’d organized the women, an enormous task and yet one of the easiest. The queen would perform admirably, and with Liri's mother by her side, they would handle that part without needing Braon for assistance. Relegating that to a position of his mind that would remind him to check on them, he looked at the next item.
Communication between his troops and his command center would be the greatest difficulty. In his mind it comprised two components, seeing the battle, or messages from the front lines, and directing the battle, or giving instructions to his field officers. Because of the breadth of what they were going to defend, he could not imagine doing either without magic, which is where the archmage came in. Hopefully he would have some suggestions on how to tackle the problem. If worse came to worst, he could always use flags to communicate with his officers, but it would be time consuming and prone to error. He needed to be able to react instantly to any surge in the battle, or he might hear of a breach when it had become a flood.
He chuckled to himself, eliciting a sharp glance from a guard. Stifling his humor, he realized that a part of him enjoyed the challenge before him. He’d always liked strategy, ever since he'd used it to avoid being caught and bloodied by the other boys. He’d never been outthought by them, and he’d never lost a single game of Stratos. Most of his ideas came from listening to captains complain about problems in the field during a match, and whenever he’d played his favorite game, he’d thought of them as a real army. Now he had his chance. Let’s not choose this time to lose, he thought.
